Lie With Me
by sometimesmilla
Summary: I'll skip the details, if you don't mind, of this story, I'm saying only that a wolf's bite is not one of life's peak experiences, particularly so when one's only cure is Klaus. In spite of it all, I remain a creature of habit. I turn to his brother. Yes, just one last roll of the dice.
1. Chapter 1

**CHAPTER ONE**

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There is a great big house growing out of the ground. The place turns out to be as rumoured, peaceful, dusted in white—like a fancy box—with siding made out of some striped wood she can't place and lots of glass. A Stellar jay rips shingles off the awning, squawks at her like she's done something wrong. She sees his tongue judder with the force of his complaint; he looks like he is about to vomit. He then fans his wings and sails off. Otherwise, it is still and silent, not a soul in sight. Clothed in a oversized red coat and ice in her hair Katherine lingers in the shadows across from the house. There are no curtains on the windows, no footprints in the snow which strikes her as odd.

There is a bitter, insistent nor'wester edged in ice that rattle the bones, and makes the blood in her cheeks turn away from its force. So strongly it blows it screams in the ears, howling like a live thing. It catches the underside of some soggy, far-off newspaper and hefts it suddenly airborne, flapping back and forth. Her skin feels porous as the newsprint, pasted on her back like a sticky setae. The snow is soft and cold, head-egg flakes that feel heavier than possible. She's hoping the rhythm of the frozen water loosed from their clouds might extract her from herself. Tired and near dead, she is still trying to pretend its not taking parts of her onto the ground with it.

She counts backwards from ten and leans into the wind towards the house. She opens the front gate and the moonlight shimmers down the path, in front of her her shadow grows taller and strong as it leads her to the door. She's slow-footed and snow has developed a thick skin of ice and her boots makes a loud crunching noise with every step. Katherine pauses at the door and looks up at a dusting of stars with hair whipping about her eyes. There are so many of them, glittering at each-other. She sees the jay high above on a wire off to the left, ticking away the seconds with its tail. His eyes black beads full of mischief. The bird is out of place, but he exist somehow clearer than her hunger or her exhaustion.

Suddenly there's a quickening of pulse, a catch in her throat. What in hell's name has possessed her to come? What ripples through her at this thought, one can say, is something like hopelessness. She licks the ice of off her bottom lip, feels its sear against her tongue and tries to get a grip. She puts her ear to the door. She is about to knock but then she hears _Beethoven_. She holds the doorknob. Her hands are sweating. Katherine tries the handle and it opens. She has always hated scenes in movies when characters knock and no one answers, so they go inside anyway; usually the killer is waiting for them in the kitchen. But this scene is her own and she has no choice.

She slips half into the room holding on to the door and moonlight follows her in. Careful not to disturb anything, she begins to slip off her shoes at the door, but then realizes she has no socks, so she keeps them on. She notices a black pair of oxfords next to her. One is propped on top of the other, like he has taken them off quickly without using his hands, pulling off the heel of one shoe with the toe of another. Katherine bends back down and fixes them so that they sit flat, one next to the other, just as they must have looked in the store where they were bought. She smells chicken tarragon coming from somewhere and hears Hammerklavier sonata playing softly upstairs.

The place is big with glass walls and a twisty mahogany staircase, and It's close to barren in decor. Nothing to steal anyway, unless someone takes a liking to Vermeer's already stolen—The Concert—covering one wall, or bothers with a book so huge that at first she thinks its a slab of concrete parked on this weird low table that looks out through the glass wall. From the front yard she couldn't tell but the whole house is perched on the edge of a steep canyon. She faces a panorama view of black and obsidian-blue sea, and as she looks towards the islands in the gulf she is thinking; girls get scared way too often. Girls get stupidly scared. She is not scared. Fear is not in her experience at this point, or vocabulary. Telling herself this sort of works.

Yet Katherine so struck by the view that she can't bring himself to intrude. She can only stand in the dull dead space at the door unable to move, looking in. There is a nearby clock mounted on the wall above her head; it's ticking like a death-watch beetle. Click. Click. Click. All around the windows grow larger and larger and taller and taller, and there she is reflected in the glass. But then the outside zooms in and the stars yawn, glinting like teeth and she's clutching her collar close to her throat. She doesn't know what to do with herself, so she holds off; fact is, she is still scared shitless. It's such a dumb thing to have come, and already she's sure she's been here too long. And this is how it goes; Just think of your personal Angel of Death, he appears.

Slowly he descends barefooted, loosening his tie and unbuttoning his cuffs. Silhouetted by a skylight above; he runs his hands through his hair and his tongue over his teeth. Katherine ducks her chin and braces herself. She is going to run. She wants to run and smash into his window like a bird. But there is little she can do—attempting to run will result in a chaise, an attack is obviously out of the question, and so reacting purely on instinct, she shifts backwards, sweating, intending to leave, but like the last spasms of a dying bird she presses against the door and it clicks shut. His eyelids lift and pools of liquid chocolate focuses on Katherine. He holds himself tall with the poise of a king and the look in his eyes is not any softer. A blood-curling fear imbues her, stronger than anything she's felt before. A silent Message passes between them.

_You're here._

_I'm here._

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_So this chapie was meant to be longer. I'm exited about this new plot idea so had to post. Please review, will make the next one happen faster. x_


	2. Chapter 2

**CHAPTER TWO**

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Katerina made-flesh, mirage-like at his door. The face looted from the dead one, and a reflection shared with a human one. It's not a surprise to see her there. What surprises Elijah is that he didn't predict it. Nonetheless he can't really say why it happens, but it's like he gets shot right down to the bottom of his own personal Dead Sea. Weighted down with emotions like an iron plate. One of those old iron slave plates he saw in a museum in Williamsburg. He feels like he has one of those heavy black plates just sitting in his chest. He keeps standing where he is, dumb as a potted plant, and feeling the space between them like an electric field. Which he guesses its not what she or he expects. Elijah definitely is a business sort of man, but evidently not today. He is thrown off by the narrowness of her wrists, the nothingness of her frame. The look on her face reminds him of cats he'd seen previously at such times of night; all wild and wide-eyed and devoid of colour, as if filmed by some German expressionist auteur.

She is opening the door. A draught edged with ice snakes in, licking at his ankles, but he doesn't feel it's burn. "Katerina." Elijah hears his own voice catch, a shiver. Katherine hears it, too. She looks up toward him, somberly. She has mascara smeared touchingly under one eye, she seems tired and beaten down; her features are pale as water, and when her hair lifts by the backdraught of a wind escaping from outside, as the angel ringlets bounce about her ears Elijah realizes she's not alright. He places one hand on his heart, the other in his pocket. On the radio a storm rages out of control, just as wind and rain howl outside like a pack of wolfs, their sounds echoing through the halls and bouncing off walls. His throat feels tight, his mouth dry, so he does not say another word. He just stands and stands there, not breathing. Katherine tries to stop breathing too. She can't. In fact she feels her breathing quicken, the iambic beat of her heart as her lips part to accommodate faster breathes.

Elijah's gaze pins her to the spot. His eyes are unblinking, watching and revealing nothing. But It's the head tilt that gives it away. His head is looking down at her and tilted slightly to the right. A draft freezes through her chest. She's on the brink of sheer panic and she just wants to leave and she just doesn't want him to look at her that way, almost as if worried. Katherine thought she would be able to take it like a big girl, but she can't. And now she can tell, feel it even. She knows with no shadow of a doubt that he is about to clip down the stairs faster than a falcon at any second, and come and get her. Katherine has to go, but the storm is unforgiving, and she knows she doesn't have enough in her to brave it. She notices a hall at the far end of the room, to her left. It's only a few paces off, but it seems like miles. She's got to get out of here, she simply has to. She hears him laugh like a man you can't trust with your life as she runs past him, nearly tripping over herself; "hey, hey. It's okay. I'm not going to hurt you."

She runs. That is all she knows to do. She keeps running and running and running. She races so fast that it makes her heart burn. Her heart hurts as if it has just twisted a muscle. Katherine dashes across the landing, up some back room stairs, to a bedroom at the other end of the house and crashes at a floor to ceiling window. She pulls too hard at it's curtains. A chain of rings clink and the curtains come down, at this point the world shifts on its axis, and what was once vertical suddenly becomes horizontal. She curls in them, hiding. Katherine can't see, and her heart is jack hammering under her ribs so hard, so fast, that it feels like it's trying to bust it open, trying to deafen her-or drown out the sound of his footsteps. As her limbs shrink inward as she recoils from his approach, she knows why. Here is the man she's been running from for forever—the thing she swears is the closest approximation to God she's ever known. She fills her lungs up to the rims with air, and has her trapped.

The curtains get lifted quickly off and the moon is back inside. Elijah is right there. He has a foot on either side of himself, gladiator stance. She is watching him watch her, feeling her body clench up like she's been caught up in a corner. His eyes are dim, like the lights have blown out in a bulb. His savoy-roll suit-pants are black, clinched by a granite colored leather belt and his shirt is whiter than white. There are no wrinkles in his clothes. From her angle he looks handsome in a malicious way, everything about his face sharp and thin, as if his skin is stretched over some sort of alloy. His hands are inside his pockets as if he doesn't trust them and his jaw is wire-tight, he seems ready either to burst into tears or bury a fist in the wall. Katherine has a stillness and energy of a wild animal faced with the dark barrel of a shotgun, she is looking and waiting for him to do something, but Elijah doesn't know what exactly. At this point Katherine would welcome the punch in the face–it's the threat of the punch that causes most damage. She is swallowing her breaths. She hears him way up above her, whispering: "Stay here, Just stay. Shhhhh. It's okay."

The room vibrates with her anxiety. She laying on the floor, her body feels very dense and heavy, as though it would be very hard to move again, which is just as well, since she doesn't feel like she can even if she wants to. But what she wants most is to die right here, in his shadow. The tears on her face, and her throat is hot, but her fingertips are cold on her legs as she curls them tighter into her chest. The man above becomes distorted beyond recognition. Katherine thinks she might faint or vomit, but doesn't. She holds herself very still by a feeling of dizzying suspension, like the one she has in dreams where she can fly, but only if she gets into some weird position. There is something vulnerable and manic in her, and its threatening to undo him all over again. Elijah has too much of a sense of himself as a original to be reckless twice, he tells himself. And yet, like a bad habit he decides to do the noble thing, but when he bends to pick her up she spins hard from his grip, and has a full frontal collision with the tall leaded window. He is able to trap her there and pick her up, but her legs jerk and body twists, eyes desperate, wide and unblinking like wet stars.

Elijah takes her by the arm with an indifferent aggressive snatch. He stands with an economical grace, pulling her up with him in a flourish, slams her body against glass and then holds her there. The contact is so sudden that Katherine goes blank. It feels like he could have put his hand through her rib cage, grabbed her heart, squeezed it a little to see how it felt, then let go. He steps closer. It is only a gesture, one second, almost invisible, but too close. His mouth opens, ready to say something. His breath warm on her nose and it smells like nothing at all. He runs his tongue over his lower lip. The scent of something expensive rises to Katherine's nostrils. Not cologne. Body wash, maybe. Or shampoo. But whatever it is it's nothing short of mouthwatering. Mixed in with something else altogether, something distinctly ancient, something very different from anything she ever smelt before; something as familiar as rain on dry soil. It is the first smell she has noticed in weeks, and there is something intoxicating about it. She thinks she can even taste it, mineral, sharp. She's cloying the way salt makes slugs slaver and dry up all at once.

She sees his eyes fix on the white scarf that is too tight around her neck. Dread creeps in, finds crevices between her in breaths and out breaths when he begins to tug at it. She adverts her face from him. The room their in has cushy carpet, shelfs filled with books, and there is a cat on a couch, head askew, looking back at Katherine. With one hand he pushes the coat and strap of her halter top down over her shoulder. It's an assertive move, a hint of aggression, but gentle really. Fear still hooks Katherine's stomach and pulls it towards her chest. He reaches for the other side, pushes that strap down too. Her shoulders are round and perfect, in exception to the wolf's bite. Touching a fingertip to the wound, Elijah traces it from the hollow between her shoulder and neck downward. She must of tried remedies to rid of it cause now her skin got rives spreading wildly. His fingers long, blunt as he pushes her halter top down lower, halfway down, a little further, until it marks a line across her nipples, then lower still, until her breasts are out, pale and round in her lace bra. He realizes the rash ends at her navel.

Elijah and Katherine stay there like that, both their chests caving in. He may as well admit it, his emotions are in a bad way. As an Original has long become used to not having any feelings at all, but this makes him split in half. Eventually he shifts, hooking his arm around her waist as if she were a precious extension of himself, like his voice or honor; then quick as lightning and before his rationale can stop him his fingers catch her chin and makes her look up at him. "Bite me." He says as he presses his will against hers until it capitulates. Elijah ignores how from his lips his voice comes out ragged and torn, like its going through a shredder. "It'll do you some good." She blinks for a few seconds, then her cheek is against his cheek. Soft, warm. She moves her head down, the tip of her nose grazing by the stubble on his chin to the dell in his collar. Katherine stops for a second, then tilts her head and presses the sharp tip of her fangs into skin, thick red blood begins to trickle down very very slowly. Her warm, moist tongue laps it up gently, back and forth, in a small arc outlining his bluish-green vein.

Katherine roughly grazes her nails down his chest, scratching his hard little nipples from over his shirt. She's scratching them hard enough to draw blood, because this is about hunger. She then all out of the blue latches on and tries to drink the life out of him. Groaning into her hair he pushes his chest up against her, left forearm and palm flat on the window surface, and with her back firmly rammed against glass, he pulls her up onto him by her thigh with his right. She wraps her legs around him like a seat-belt. It should be loud, but it's quiet as he allows her to drink to her hearts desire. In the end, when it's almost over and she's just about sated, he slides the cat off the couch like men in movies clear already-set dining room tables or desks in offices in one fell swoop, and she fits her body into his like a puzzle piece, her head resting on his chest, listening for lungs. They're so quiet, so still—as still as that pair of sloths in the San Diego Zoo, suspended in place so long that it took three months for anyone to notice they were dead. He kisses the top of her head and climbs the bones of her back with his fingers like a ladder.

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_There may be mistakes. typos and what not. not sure if it came out as wanted, but good enough i guess. review pleasssee._

_PS: Wanna join me in a Role-play. Always wanted to do one. don't mind a private PM one of here. or forum...just copy and past this link...but delete the ** before clicking go. (ht**tp:/w**w** for**um/Vampire-Diaries-Roleplay-NEW/108**970/)_


	3. Note

_Hello everyone. _

_So sorry I've not updated._

_And now that I've started a new Kalijah fic called FINE BY ME. (Inspired by American Gofic Epie.) _

_I'm going to let you know that this fic will sit in the back burner until further notice. _

_Sorry._

_But on the bright side I've got 4 chapies already awaiting post, for Fine By Me. _

_x_


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